


i'll defend your every breath (and i'll do better)

by achilleus



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baze is a sweetheart, Fluff, M/M, Married Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleus/pseuds/achilleus
Summary: Baze never really meant to adopt Bodhi.No – no wait, it sounds bad when worded like that. Baze most definitely did mean to adopt Bodhi, but it wasn’t exactly something he and Chirrut had discussed beforehand. Not in depth anyways. At least not in the depth probably required when discussing becoming potential guardians of a young life.Adopting Bodhi was the most impulsive thing Baze had ever done in his life (he isn’t even an impulsive person by nature – if anything, he’s the levelheaded one to Chirrut’s impetuous brashness).It’s hard to find any kind of regrets though, when Bodhi’s tiny, squishy face is looking up at him, with all the love and adoration in the world.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the idea of Baze and Chirrut adopting Bodhi. It's just...is there anything more pure than this concept??
> 
> The title is from the song "Light" by Sleeping At Last.

Baze never really meant to adopt Bodhi.  
  
No – no wait, it sounds bad when worded like that. Baze most definitely _did_ mean to adopt Bodhi, but it wasn’t exactly something he and Chirrut had discussed beforehand. Not in depth anyways. At least not in the depth probably required when discussing becoming potential guardians of a young life.  
  
Adopting Bodhi was the most impulsive thing Baze had ever done in his life (he isn’t even an impulsive person by nature – if anything, he’s the levelheaded one to Chirrut’s impetuous brashness).  
  
It’s hard to find any kind of regrets though, when Bodhi’s tiny, squishy face is looking up at him, with all the love and adoration in the world.  
  
  
…  
  
  
The little figure had been standing outside the large, glass window for a good hour and a half now. The sun had just begun its slow descent past reaching buildings and the shallow horizon when Baze first noticed him. It was almost completely dark outside now. The streets lights had flickered on about half an hour ago, and the previously slow, meandering people had begun walking with a hastened step, eager to escape the cold weather and return to cozy homes.  
  
Baze frowns in concern before walking around the counter. The mad rush that often filtered in and out of his coffee shop during the mornings and afternoons had drizzled down to the odd customer every now and then, and they could definitely sacrifice one man behind the counter for now. He can feel his employee’s eyes following him as he walked out into the brisk cold air.  
  
“You okay?” He asks after a moment, when the kid hadn’t seemed to notice his looming frame, half-leaning out the door. The kid jolts, before big brown eyes are trained onto Baze.  
  
“I—I’m good, sir,” the kid manages to squeak out past clattering teeth and trembling lips. The mild worry plaguing Baze turns heavier, and he walked towards the boy before crouching down beside him. He couldn’t help but notice that even when squatted down, the boy was still a bit shorter than him.  
  
“Where are your parents?”  
  
The boy just shrugs and Baze sighs before standing up and offering the tiny boy a hand. The boy glances at it in confusion and begins blinking in nervous apprehension.  
  
“You shouldn’t stay out here,” Baze rumbles, attempting to make his voice calmer and gentler. “It’s cold. You’ll get sick. Come inside and I’ll get you some food before we figure out what to do.”  
  
The boy looks up at Baze’s face in slight cautious wonder, before he places his tiny hand into Baze’s proffered one. Baze’s hand completely envelops the young kid’s, and he gently guides the boy into the well-lit shop.  
  
Under the calming yellow brightness of the coffee shop, Baze can see the red clinging to the boy’s cheeks and nose. The child’s lips are trembling though he seemed to be making a valiant effort to keep the quivering at bay, and his fingers were shaking ever so slightly. The boy’s ragged coat seemed a bit too big for him, and much too thin for the cold autumn evening, and Baze can’t help but cluck his tongue in concern and mild annoyance at the child’s parents as well as himself, for not checking on the boy sooner.  
  
“Go. Sit,” Baze commands gently before guiding the boy to an overstuffed armchair placed in the corner of the room, near the heater. “I’ll get you something warm to drink and eat.”  
  
“Th—thank you, sir,” the boy murmurs before sitting stiffly in the chair. Baze walks back behind the counter and begins to make a hot chocolate for the boy.  
  
“Who is he?” Tanith, his employee, asks.  
  
“Lost his parents,” Baze grunts back while frothing the milk. “I’ll take him to the police station after he warms up.”  
  
“Poor thing,” she clucks sympathetically while cleaning up some tea tins. “It’s freezing outside.”  
  
“Yeah,” Baze agrees. “Can you warm up some cookies for him?”  
  
When Baze returns with a mug of hot chocolate (with a generous amount of whip cream sprayed on top) and a plate with three chocolate chip cookies on it, the boy looks much better. The harsh redness that was dotting his tiny face had receded dramatically, and he was no longer trembling like a loose leaf. Baze places the cookies on the table and hands the mug to the boy who looks at the heaping of whipped cream with something reminiscent to wonder in his eyes.  
  
“This’s for me?” He asks with a nervous kind-of excitement that causes another flash of worry to thrum uncomfortably in Baze’s heart.  
  
“Yeah, be careful though, it’s hot,” Baze replies when the kid’s tiny, chubby fingers wraps around the porcelain cup. Against the great width of the mug, the boy’s digits seem even smaller and more delicate, and Baze watches with an odd feeling in his stomach as the boy gently blows against the rim of the cup before taking a nervous sip. Whip cream clings onto the boy’s upper lip in a mockery of a moustache, and the child giggles with a gentle sort of delightfulness.  
  
“It’s yummy,” he proclaims with a conclusive tone so often used by children. Baze often finds their stubborn steadfastness primarily amusing and mildly annoying, but there’s something so endearing about the boy’s tiny nod and content smile that Baze couldn’t help but quirk a small grin in return.  
  
“What’s your name, sir?” The boy asks after a few more sips. “I keep calling you ‘mister’ in my head, but it’s getting a little weird.”  
  
Baze is slightly taken aback by the boy’s seemingly sudden growth in confidence, but he supposes warm cookies and hot chocolate can gain you the favour of any child. “Baze Malbus.”  
  
“Baze Malbus,” the boy repeat, enunciating his name with a carefulness that almost seems reverent. “My name’s Bodhi Rook. Bodhi as in B-O-D-H-I. I’m four years old. What’s your favourite colour, Mr. Malbus?”  
  
The sudden turns in conversation was causing a ripple of confusion to echo through Baze’s mind, and his lack of familiarity with handling children causes a rather crippling effect for himself, but he meanders on. “Blue, I guess,” he says half-heartedly, saying the first colour that popped into his head.  
  
“That’s my favourite colour too!” Bodhi chirps happily, and his enthusiasm is so infectious that Baze suddenly found himself much more fond of a colour he had no opinion of prior. “It’s the colour of the sky, y’know? Do you like the sky, Mr. Malbus?”  
  
“It’s nice,” Baze allows, and the grin that overtakes Bodhi’s little face, causing dimples to appear in his chubby cheeks, threatens to outshine the lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Baze just smiles softly when the boy perks up in his seat.  
  
“It’s really nice,” Bodhi says. His small fingers cling tighter to his mug, as if needing something solid to ground him. “It’s big, and blue, and sometimes at night stars appear in it. And there’s the moon too, and the sun! But I think the moon is the best. It’s all white and shiny, but it’s not too bright like the sun. It’s just right.”  
  
“Are you interested in learning about the moon and stars?”  
  
“Yeah!” Bodhi chirps in excitement. “I wanna learn everything about the moon and sun and stars! I wanna be a pilot so I can fly close to them.”  
  
“That does sound very nice.”  
  
“Yeah! Do you like pizza, Mr. Malbus?”  
  
“Everyone likes pizza,” Baze tells him. “What kind do you like?”  
  
“I like pepperoni! And bacon. With cheese in the crust. Have you ever had cheese in your crust?”  
  
“No,” Baze replies, and chuckles at the look of utter horror that befalls the boy’s expressive face.  
  
“You have to have pizza with cheese crust; you’ll never be really happy without it!” Bodhi declares with all the severity of a young child, and Baze entertains him with a serious nod.  
  
“I’ll have to try it one day.”  
  
“You _have_ to. You _have_ to if you ever wanna be happy, okay?” Bodhi puts down his half-full mug on the wooden table between them. He sticks out his tiny, fragile pinky and looks up at Baze with a grave look in his huge, brown eyes and a childish seriousness pulling down his lips. “Promise me, okay? I want you to be happy, Mr. Malbus!”  
  
“Okay,” Baze agrees, and wraps his pinky around Bodhi’s much-smaller one. Bodhi’s tiny digit absolutely disappears in Baze’s embrace, and Baze couldn’t help but feel a surge of affectionate fondness well up in his chest at the sight of their intertwined pinkies and at the delighted bubbles of laughter escaping Bodhi’s upturned lips.  
  
“Now hurry up and eat,” Baze says gruffly, attempting to swallow the tenderness in his heart. “We need to get you home.”  
  
  
…  
  
  
Baze forsakes his car and instead decides to walk the boy to the nearest police station. The precinct was only a ten minute walk away, and Baze would rather not endanger Bodhi’s life by driving without the boy having a car seat to cushion his small body.  
  
He dons his coat but wraps his thick scarf and knitted hat (the atrocious, neon green one Chirrut made for him) around Bodhi.  
  
“But what about you?” Bodhi protests worriedly when Baze plops the woolen monstrosity onto the boy’s head before pulling it so that it covered the child’s eyebrows and ears. “You’ll be cold!”  
  
“Better me than you,” Baze grunts back before waving goodbye to Tanith for the night and offering his hand to the boy. Bodhi frowns in concern before grabbing Baze’s hand as they make their way out into the cold.  
  
“Are we going to the police station?” Bodhi asks.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“How far is it?”  
  
“Ten minutes.”  
  
“You’ll get sick!” Bodhi protests once more, and Baze can feel the boy’s tiny hand clutching onto his in apparent apprehension and worry. The fondness only grows bigger, especially when Baze looks down to see Bodhi’s tiny upturned face; his big eyes were illuminated by the streetlights and the deep distress was almost palpable in the boy’s intense gaze.  
  
“And you were outside for more than an hour, little one,” Baze replies gently. “Ten minutes is nothing. I’ll be fine.”  
  
Bodhi gnaws his lip, the little furrow between his brows creases a bit further before he hesitantly relents. “Okay. But you have to make hot chocolate for yourself later. It’ll help warm you up.”  
  
Baze finds it extremely easy to follow the young child’s caring demands. “Okay.”  
  
They walk in companionable silence for a few minutes before Bodhi pipes up softly. “Today was my first time having whip cream.”  
  
Baze looks down and can only see the top of Bodhi’s little head, all bundled up and covered in a neon green hat. He feels surprised and oddly wounded on the child’s behalf, and he frowns. “Really?”  
  
“Mmhmm,” Bodhi hums noncommittedly with an almost forced nonchalance. “It was really yummy.”  
  
“You can come back whenever you want,” Baze replies, sincerely hoping the young boy would. He would enjoy seeing little Bodhi, with his quiet enthusiasm and love of the moon and stars and sky and his aspirations to be a pilot, again. “I’ll make you more hot chocolate. If you want, I’ll just give you a cup of whip cream.”  
  
“Can you do that?” Bodhi gasps dramatically. His free hand comes up to cover his mouth his shock, and Baze couldn’t help the chuckle from escaping.  
  
“Of course,” he responds. “I’m the boss.”  
  
“You’re a boss?”  
  
“I’m _the_ boss.”  
  
“The boss?”  
  
“The boss,” Baze affirms with a solid nod. The look of admiration on Bodhi’s face causes a new sense of pride to wash over Baze, and he unconsciously begins to look for other information to pleasantly surprise Bodhi with. He draws a blank, and instead just soaks in the awe emanating from the young boy and the tightened grasp on his hand by mini fingers.  
  
“I’ve never met the boss before,” Bodhi whispers conspiratorially, and Baze feels fond amusement blossom in his chest.  
  
“It’s your lucky day then.”  
  
“It is,” Bodhi agrees, just as they reach the police station. Baze feels strangely bereft at having arrived to their destination, though he’s glad to be closer to reuniting Bodhi with his parents. The feeling leaves an odd sensation coating his insides, and he attempts to push away his selfish feelings and instead, gently nudges Bodhi into the brightly illuminated station.  
  
“Can I help you?” The officer at the front desk asks pleasantly, and Baze nods in affirmation as Bodhi’s large eyes roam everywhere with a childlike innocence.  
  
“Lost child,” Baze says and the officer nods in understanding.  
  
“Please take a seat,” the officer says, nodding towards the plastic chairs lining the room. “I’ll be with you shortly.”  
  
Baze nods and ushers Bodhi with a gentle grasp on his shoulder into one of the plastic chairs. Bodhi scrambles onto the seat and begins swinging his short legs back and forth. Baze watches the boy’s thin legs and small feet. Everything about Bodhi seemed so small and so easily breakable and Baze feels a swell of nausea rise up in him at the mere thought.  
  
“I’ve never been to a police station before,” Bodhi confesses softly. His tiny fingers play with the fraying edges of his thin jacket, and Baze frowns. He hopes the boy’s parents will buy him a new jacket soon – the one he’s wearing will definitely do nothing to protect his small body from the harsh autumn winds.  
  
“That’s probably a good thing,” Baze murmurs back. Bodhi giggles softly, his fingers coming up to cover his upturned lips and scrunched up face, and Baze just smiles in turn.  
  
“It’s nice here, though,” Bodhi says, and Baze glances around at the sterile white room, with its plastic blue chairs and harsh white lights. Staticky voices could be heard over multiple radios and there was a sense of nervous anticipation that seemed to run through the place, despite seeming to be relatively empty and quiet during this time.  
  
Baze grunts in slight disbelief, and Bodhi is quick to turn to him with a reassuring: “I like your hot chocolate shop more though, Mr. Malbus” and a gentle pat of his small hand against his arm.  
  
Baze feels that sense of now-familiar wonder zip through him.  
  
The officer approaches them with a clipboard and a gentle smile. She pulls up a chair in front of Bodhi and plops down on it before offering the young boy a hand. “Hello, my name’s Officer Brin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  
  
Bodhi glances at her hand with a hesitant carefulness around him before he places his small palm in hers. Even in her slender hand, Bodhi’s absolutely disappears.  
  
“My name’s Bodhi Rook. It’s nice to meet you, miss.”  


“You have very good manners, don’t you Bodhi?” Officer Brin says with a graceful smile tilting her lips. Bodhi bites on his bottom lip in slight nervousness before responding.  
  
“It’s good to have good manners.”  
  
“That’s right,” the officer responds before getting down to business. “Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions, Bodhi. So that we can get you back home, safe and sound, as quickly as possible.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Alright. How do you know the man next to you, Bodhi?”  
  
“Oh!” Bodhi perks up, and a bright smile illuminates his face. He beams up at Baze, who couldn’t help but grin back with a tender gentleness often reserved only for his husband. “That’s an easy question. I met Mr. Malbus because he rescued me from the cold and brought me to his hot chocolate shop. He’s the boss!”  
  
Officer Brin’s half-amused and half-infatuated smile turns towards Baze with a tilt of her sharp brows. “Mr. Malbus?”  
  
“Baze Malbus,” Baze offers, and Officer Brin nods.  
  
“Bodhi,” Officer Brin says. “Do you know your parents’ number so that we may contact them?”  
  
There’s a pause, and when Baze looks down at Bodhi – bright, enthusiastic, joyful Bodhi – he sees the boy frowning in what seems to be quiet shame and twiddling his thumbs anxiously.    
  
“I don’t have parents; I don’t think they wanted me,” Bodhi finally whispers to his lap with a detachedness that no child should ever have to express. Baze can see Officer Brin stiffen from the corner of his eyes, and all he could feel was iciness fill his veins. Bodhi looks close to tears, and Baze isn’t even surprised at how adamant he is against the thought of having to see the boy look so distraught ever again. He places a heavy hand against Bodhi’s shoulder and the young boy leans against him.  
  
“Bodhi,” Baze murmurs, not knowing what to say. How could the young boy possibly ever understand the complexities of putting your child up for adoption? And even if he could understand, it wouldn’t necessarily make him feel better.  
  
Baze just heaves a heavy sigh, and wraps his arm around Bodhi’s small shoulders, practically covering his entire body before tugging him into a gentle half-hug. Baze was a man who always believed that actions were more effective than words. And right now, a hug felt like a good place to start in comforting Bodhi.  
  
  
…  
  
  
After finding out that Bodhi was an orphan, it became an easy task to find information on the church that housed the boy, and to pull up their information to call them.  
  
Baze can still picture Bodhi’s downtrodden face with a sharp clarity when an older lady had bustled into the precinct, worried lines etched deep into her face, lightened only when her eyes lay upon Bodhi. The lady had thanked Baze profusely to which he just waved it off.  
  
It was much harder, however, to wave goodbye to Bodhi, who kept glancing back at Baze with a half-inquisitive and half-accepting look in his eyes as he trudged out after the woman into the cold darkness with only his thin jacket and Baze’s scarf and hat to protect him.  
  
“Is something the matter?”  
  
Baze glances up at Chirrut’s serene expression and sheepishly closes the tab on his laptop before remembering that his husband was _blind_ and couldn’t see what he was doing anyway.  
  
“No,” he replies before grunting as Chirrut’s nimble fingers jabs at the weak spots on his stomach. “Gah,” he grunts, continuously baffled at Chirrut’s uncanny ability to locate _anything_ (including his ticklish spots, curse him) despite his blindness.  
  
“You can’t lie to me, Baze,” Chirrut responds coolly, jabbing one last time against the soft flesh of Baze’s side. “I know you too well for your monosyllabic grunts to persuade me. The air around you has been strange and melancholic for a few days now. You might as well tell me now, before I find out.”  
  
“If you’re going to find out anyways, I see no reason to need to tell you now.”  
  
Chirrut frowns before swatting Baze’s thigh gently. “You’re a terrible husband.”  
  
“I’m a great husband.”  
  
“Tell me,” Chirrut demands, and Baze only rolls his eyes before relenting. He could never say no to Chirrut, it was something he had always known. He simply enjoyed being contrary just to maintain some semblance of self-control before inevitably giving it all up to his husband.  
  
“You know the lost boy I told you about?”  
  
“Bodhi Rook,” Chirrut nods with surety, finally settling further into the blankets now that Baze was ready to talk.  
  
Baze grunts in affirmation before continuing. “He wasn’t wearing a proper coat. I’m just worried since it’s getting colder now and if he doesn’t get one soon, he’ll get sick.”  
  
“So you’re searching up jackets for the boy,” Chirrut finishes, not even questioning it. Baze nods, before reaching out and placing his hand against the back of Chirrut’s neck, massaging gently. Chirrut is silent for a few moments before stating with his usual surety: “We should buy him one.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“No child should have to go without a proper jacket for the upcoming winter.”  
  
Baze stares at his husband with an all-encompassing love and awe that had never waned in the long years they have known each other. Chirrut continues over Baze’s silence. “We can go shopping this weekend for a jacket for the boy. I’m assuming you know where he lives?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Good. So you weren’t completely half-assing it.”  
  
Baze growls before he leans in to show his husband just how _not_ half-assed he was about _anything_.  
  
  
…  
  
  
They go shopping on the weekend and end up purchasing a nice, midnight blue coat with puffy sleeves and deep pockets for Bodhi (Chirrut had insisted on buying a neon orange jacket with a fake neon green fur trim on the hood for the boy, and Baze had absolutely no idea how Chirrut always managed to locate the most hideously-coloured articles of anything, ever).  
  
“Bodhi likes blue,” Baze finds himself telling Chirrut as they’re driving towards the church where Bodhi lives.  
  
“Blue is a very nice colour. From what I can remember anyway,” Chirrut agrees amiably and Baze rolls his eyes.  
  
“He likes the sky,” Baze continues and Chirrut smiles knowingly at his husband.  
  
“Is that why he likes the colour blue?”  
  
“Mmm,” Baze hums. “He said he wants to be a pilot.”  
  
“Not an astronaut?”  
  
“No.” Baze replies, as an uncharacteristic sense of nervousness blooms in the pit of his stomach. “I wonder if he’ll like the coat.”  
  
“I’m sure he’ll love it Baze,” Chirrut smiles gently at his husband and places a loving hand over where Baze’s was resting on the gear shift. “He sounds like a lovely boy. I’m sure he’ll appreciate anything you give him.”  
  
Baze just hums and continues driving, further and further out of the city, only to pull up to a large, grey church with a park right adjacent to it. Children were happily playing in it.  
  
Baze parks the car and gets out while Chirrut follows suit a moment later. Baze grabs the bag with the coat inside from the trunk before reaching his husband. “Let’s go in.”  
  
They begin approaching the church and Baze notices a man standing a few feet away. He clears his throat roughly and the man turns around with a genial smile painted on his lips.  
  
“Hello,” the man bows low and deep. “How may I help you?”  
  
Baze offers a small tilt of his head while Chirrut smiles serenely. “We’re here to see Bodhi Rook. I met him on Monday when he got lost.”  
  
“Oh! Of course, nice to meet you… Mr. Malbus, was it?”  
  
At Baze’s affirmative nod, the man continues. “Are you just here to visit Bodhi?”  
  
“We’ve also come to give him a jacket,” Chirrut pipes up. “Baze couldn’t help but notice how thin Bodhi’s coat was last time, so we’ve come hoping to remedy the situation.”  
  
“Of course,” the man nods kindly towards Chirrut. “The church relies heavily on donations of any kind, so we’re thankful for your contribution.”  
  
“It’s our pleasure,” Chirrut responds, and just as the man is about to lead them around the grounds in search of Bodhi, the young boy in question comes barreling for them in apparent glee. The small body slams right into Baze’s legs before scrawny arms latch themselves around Baze’s middle.  
  
Distantly, Baze can hear the man chuckling before saying: “I see Bodhi’s found you. Well, I’ll let you have some time alone” but all he could focus on was the warm press of Bodhi’s tiny body hugging his side tightly. The size difference between the two of them feel even more immense, and Baze is once again hit with the realization of how delicate and _breakable_ Bodhi really is.  
  
“Mr. Malbus!” Bodhi’s tiny face turns up to him, and his happy smile was even brighter that Baze remembered. “Did you come to see me?”  
  
Baze smiles gently down at the boy, the tension he hadn’t known he’d been carrying around for the past days finally dissipating now that he can see Bodhi again. He nods, and Bodhi’s smile – if it was even possible – turns even more brilliant.  
  
Inquisitively, Bodhi turns his still beaming face towards Chirrut and asks: “Who are you?”  
  
“Chirrut Îmwe,” Chirrut responds and reaches out with the hand not holding his cane. “I’m Baze’s husband.”  
  
Bodhi grabs Chirrut’s hand (and Baze is happy to see that the usual nervousness clinging to the small boy when meeting strangers is absent) with an awed expression on his face. “You’re married to Mr. Malbus?”  
  
“Yes,” Chirrut agrees. “It’s a shock to me, too.” Baze rolls his eyes but Bodhi’s expression turns gleeful.  
  
“Does that make you the boss too?”  
  
“I am always the boss,” Chirrut nods in affirmation, apparently not needing any sort of context or explanation, and Baze rolls his eyes once more – a signature move every time he was with Chirrut.  
  
“That’s so cool!” Bodhi claps his hands together. “I want to be the boss too. Can I please be the boss too, Mr. Malbus?”  
  
Baze finds it impossible to deny Bodhi anything when those large eyes are trained on him. He simply nods, a bit helplessly, and Bodhi giggles, once again hiding behind two tiny hands.  
  
Bodhi is absolutely delighted when Baze and Chirrut gives him his new coat. When he wears it though, Baze couldn’t help but notice the hand-me-down clothing that Bodhi is dressed in. The shirt was a bit too threadbare and a bit too big, and the jeans were too baggy with holes littering the knees and thighs and fraying at the ends. The shoes on his little feet looked like they were barely holding together, and Baze just feels the strongest urge to… _provide_ for this boy.  
  
It’s a shock to him, because Baze had never really considered himself the _paternal_ sort. But here he was, wanting nothing more than to buy this little boy everything his heart may desire – Baze wants to make sure Bodhi grows up, loved and protected and knowing that he’s loved and protected, because if anyone deserves love then it’s this little boy, who loves the sky and wants to fly up there one day, and—  
  
Baze shakes his head, and watches as Bodhi and Chirrut continue talking and laughing together.  
  
He’s not Bodhi’s parent. And he’s not sure he’s ready to be a parent, or even if he and Chirrut actually want kids. If anything, he was just a strange friend Bodhi has made, and he needs to remain at that distance.  
  
_That’s all this is_ , Baze thinks to himself. His forced-nonchalant thoughts don’t make his clenching heart any more bearable though when he and Chirrut wave goodbye to Bodhi (who begs and begs that they stay) before dejectedly waving goodbye to them as they drive off, dressed in a new coat and tattered jeans, looking as heartbroken as Baze feels.  
  
“Bodhi’s a very sweet child,” Chirrut remarks casually as they pull away, and Baze doesn’t miss the careful way Chirrut is eyeing him. He can’t find it in himself to care though, and he just grunts in affirmation as he steals one last look at Bodhi from the rearview mirror. The sense of loss grows in his chest as the tiny image of Bodhi grows smaller and smaller, until Baze has to focus on the road ahead of him.  
  
  
…  
  
  
The sense of loss only seems to multiply as days stretch by.  
  
Baze finds himself thinking about Bodhi _all the time_. He wonders if the young boy is wearing his new jacket, if he’s eating a balanced meal, if he’s sleeping alright, if he’s drinking hot chocolate when the days get colder, if he stills has the neon green hat Baze gave him–  
  
He doesn’t say anything to Chirrut, because he’s not even sure what to say. The sense of attachment he’s grown to the boy is utterly astounding – he’s only met Bodhi _twice_ , but yet here he is, constantly worried about him, constantly thinking about him.  
  
He had ventured into a toy store the other day during his lunch break, and it was a true test of his self-control as he struggled to not buy out the entire store for Bodhi. He saw tiny little model planes and wanted beyond anything else, to buy them for him, just to see his tiny face light up in delight.  
  
He had walked back out, feeling even worse than before.  
  
  
…  
  
  
Baze finds himself drifting around on autopilot. He drives halfway towards the church before he snaps out of it, and realizes that he’s driving to visit Bodhi. There’s a bag with a planet model kit inside sitting in the passenger seat beside him, and Baze feels like he’s going insane.  
  
_I’m just checking up on him_ , Baze thinks insistently to himself. _Just making sure he’s alright_. Except when he finally gets to the church, and Bodhi comes running at him, dressed in his warm coat with his head acting like a neon green beacon of terror, and asking a million questions (“How do you make hot chocolate, Mr. Malbus?” and “Is whip cream actually cream?” and “Why is Mr. Îmwe’s eyes so murky?” and “Did you know there are millions of things living in the sea?”), Baze can’t find the strength to just leave this boy behind again.  
  
He physically... _can't_.  
  
  
…  
  
  
“Mr. Malbus?”  
  
Baze turns around to see the same lady who had picked up Bodhi from the police station so long ago standing before him.  
  
Baze just stares before stating: “I wanted to check up on Bodhi.”  
  
When she just continues to stare at him, Baze feels a frisson of worry make itself apparent in him, and he (uncharacteristically) impulsively blurts out: “I’m thinking of adopting him” before she could kick him out for loitering around a church-orphanage.  
  
The woman freezes, looking as shocked as Baze feels, before smiling gently and gesturing for Baze to follow her into the church. She leads him to a small office and gestures for him to sit across from her. “So you're interested in adopting Bodhi.”  
  
Baze nods, feeling oddly nervous. He feels as though he were in a job interview, and he jolts inside at how apt the description really is. Because he is in a job interview – he’s being interviewed as a prospective parent for Bodhi.  
  
“Are you married?”  
  
He nods his head again, and she hums before asking: “I’m assuming your spouse would be adopting Bodhi with you?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Baze relents gruffly, and her expression eases out into something more gentle.  
  
“Perhaps,” she suggests kindly, “you can visit Bodhi for now until you know whether your spouse is interested in adopting a child.”  
  
Baze nods, his throat feeling dry and his head feeling fuzzy.  
  
“You can visit Bodhi as much as you want,” she continues. “Perhaps bring your partner with you, so they can see how well they’ll get along with Bodhi. Then you can decide if adoption is the right course for you.”  
  
Baze swallows down the “I don’t think it’s a matter of right course or not anymore” and simply nods. The lady leads him back outside into the brisk coolness, and Baze spots Bodhi sitting in the sandbox alone, and hastens to join him.  
  
  
…  
  
  
“Where’s Mr. Îmwe?” Bodhi asks, packing the sand together with clumsy fingers. “I like him, he’s funny.”  
  
“He is pretty funny,” Baze agrees, only half-sarcastically – because Chirrut really _was_ “funny”, it was just that he was usually funny at the expense of Baze’s completely fried nerves. “He’s at work.”  
  
“What does he do?” Bodhi wonders aloud, and Baze marvels quietly at Bodhi’s little button nose scrunching up in concentration. “Is he a dancer? He looks like he could be a dancer.”  
  
The image of Chirrut doing pirouettes in a unitard forces a bark of laughter from Baze, and Bodhi smiles, confused by Baze’s laughter but nonetheless pleased by it.  
  
“I’ll tell him you said that,” Baze says. “He’s a professor.”  
  
“Professor?”  
  
“A teacher,” Baze clarifies, and helps Bodhi make a tall tower from the sand. His tower is a skyscraper compared to Bodhi’s smaller humps of sand, and it looms over the rest of Bodhi’s creations. Bodhi coos in utter delight for a moment before continuing.  
  
“What grade does he teach?”  
  
“He teaches adults.”  
  
Bodhi gasps in utter horror, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open into a perfect ‘o’ shape. “You have to go to school when you’re an adult?”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Baze says, and the huff of relief Bodhi releases makes Baze chuckle.  
  
They continue building in companionable silence for a bit, before Baze asks: “Where are your friends?”  
  
“I don’t have any,” Bodhi responds with that familiar, much-too-grown-up nonchalance, and Baze feels his eyebrows pull together as protectiveness swells up in his chest.  
  
“You don’t?”  
  
“No one really likes me. They think I’m too quiet and weird.”  
  
Baze thinks back to the way Bodhi lights up when talking about planes and hot chocolate, and the way he covers his face when he laughs really hard, and couldn’t help but scorn the stupidity and close-mindedness of children he had never met.  
  
“Their loss,” is all he says.  
  
Bodhi shrugs and asks, “Will you be my friend, Mr. Malbus?”  
  
“Yes,” Baze answers with crystal clear certainty, and feels a warmth curl up in his chest as Bodhi attempts to hide his shyly pleased smile in the collar of his jacket.  
  
  
…  
  
  
“Where are you going?” Chirrut asks as Baze is pulling on his boots. He freezes, and stares at his husband who keeps his sightless orbs trained serenely on him.  
  
“Didn’t you have a meeting today?”  
  
“It got cancelled,” Chirrut waves the thought off carelessly before slowly walking up to where Baze stood. “Now tell me: where are you going?”  
  
When Baze stays silent, Chirrut’s hand reaches out with quick precision and jabs at Baze’s weak spots with a mind-numbing accuracy. Baze attempts to squirm away but Chirrut is faster, and soon his husband’s arms were wrapped around his middle – cane dropped onto the floor – while he leaned against the door, slowly rubbing his big hands up and down his husband’s muscular back.  
  
“You know you can’t lie to me,” Chirrut says gently, and Baze scoffs, full-well knowing that fact, just as well as Chirrut knew that he would never really attempt to lie.  
  
“What do you think about kids?” Is what Baze finally asks, once a comfortable silence descends upon them.  
  
“What do I think about Bodhi, you mean.” Chirrut corrects, and Baze lets his right hand rest on the back of Chirrut’s neck in a familiar gesture that helped to ground himself.  
  
Baze grunts in acknowledgement, and Chirrut stays quiet for a moment before responding. “From that one meeting with him, I can already tell that he is a good kid, with a good heart. All he needs is a little guidance, and a lot of love to grow to his full potential.” Chirrut gently rubs soothing circles into the flesh of Baze’s sides. “And from that one meeting with him, I can tell that you’re completely in love with the boy.”  
  
Baze freezes and gently detaches Chirrut from him so that he could stare at his husband’s face. Chirrut clucks his tongue as he felt his husband’s slight surprise.  
  
“I’m blind, not stupid,” Chirrut teases. “In fact, even the stupid could probably tell that you’re completely fond of him. And you’re a bad actor too. With your grunts and monosyllabic answers. Who were you trying to fool, old man?”  
  
“It was just so sudden. We never even talked about kids before.”  
  
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Chirrut rolls his eyes before leaning forward to press a light, chaste kiss against his husband’s lips.  
  
“I have no real thoughts on children,” Chirrut says once they separate. “But I can tell how much you care about Bodhi, and I can see how happy he can make you. And if he can make you this happy, then I don’t want this opportunity to slip away. There was a reason the two of you met. It was meant to be.”  
  
“Aish,” Baze huffs, pushing Chirrut away in light disgust before reeling him back in quickly to press another kiss against Chirrut’s lips.  
  
“I want to meet him too,” Chirrut murmurs against Baze’s lips. “You should have brought me with you. I wanted to visit Bodhi again too, you know.”  
  
“Let’s go now then,” Baze murmurs back, and Chirrut shoots him a smile so brilliant that Baze just had to lean in for one more kiss.  
  
  
…  
  
  
Soon enough, Baze’s solo visits evolves into Baze and Chirrut visiting Bodhi together, when the time permits. They bring him lunches and dinners, and little snacks and small gifts, and the smile that graces Bodhi’s tiny face every time they show up causes Baze’s heart to physically hurt.  
  
When they’re not visiting Bodhi, they’re talking about Bodhi – wondering if he’s made any friends, wondering if he likes the books they bought him, wondering if he enjoys the pudding cups they gave him – so much so that there doesn’t seem to be a moment that goes by where they’re not doing something that involves Bodhi.  
  
It’s only natural that Chirrut falls just as in love with Bodhi – Bodhi with his big eyes, his button nose crowned with little freckles, with his tiny hands and big imagination – as Baze had.  
  
“We should definitely adopt him, right?” Chirrut asks one night over their dinner of beef dumplings (they already packed some for Bodhi, for the next time they visit).  
  
Baze just grins, and walks around the table to pull Chirrut up into a bruising kiss.  
  
  
…  
  
  
The next time they visit Bodhi, Baze goes off to discuss adopting Bodhi, and Chirrut sits serenely with the boy on the swing sets.  
  
“Bodhi,” Chirrut asks, feeling a new sense of calm settle over him over the step he was about to take. “You like me and Baze, don’t you?”  
  
“Yeah!” Bodhi agrees easily, swinging back and forth softly. “You guys are nice, and funny, and you make me laugh a lot.”  
  
“How would you feel about us adopting you?”  
  
Bodhi stops swinging immediately and turns large, confused eyes on Chirrut. The boy gnaws on his lower lip nervously and begins playing the chains of the swing.  
  
“You want to adopt me?” Bodhi whispers in quiet disbelief. “Are you sure? There’s other kids that are better than me.”  
  
Chirrut frowns, wondering at what cruelty and neglect had been lobbed at this sweet, kind boy to make him question his self-worth so.  
  
“We like you, Bodhi. There’s no kid better than you to us.”  
  
Bodhi frowns at his lap. “I don’t want you to make a mistake, and then start hating me because I’m not what you want.”  
  
“That won’t happen,” Chirrut declares, reaching out to blindly grope for Bodhi’s little hand. He holds that small palm in his own and marvels at the sheer life of the child beside him. “If anything, we’ll just love you more and more, every day a little more. You should trust me, I know everything.”  
  
Bodhi hesitates for another half-second before nodding with a shy smile on his lips. He squeezes Chirrut’s hand tightly. “Okay.”  
  
When Baze comes back a few minutes later after talking to the adoption lady, Bodhi jumps off the swings and runs to the other man, gleefully asking “Can I go home with you now?” and Baze just chuckles and picks up the little boy to swing him around happily as Bodhi reaches up, feeling closer to the sky than he ever had before.  
  
Chirrut smiles, listening to the high-pitched giggles spilling from Bodhi’s lips and the deep chuckles pouring out from Baze, and feels at peace.  
  
  
…  
  
  
Baze is on form twenty-one and tea cup nine when he finally breaks his previously stoic silence with a pained groan. He’s answered about a hundred invasive questions at this point and penciled out his signature a good several hundred times at this point, so no one can really blame his cursed muttering.  
  
“What do you have to complain about?” Chirrut pipes up from across from Baze. “I’m writing my signature as much as you are, and I’m _blind_. If anything, I should be the one moaning.”  
  
Baze just tosses his pen at his husband who ducks with an uncanny quickness and agility.  
  
“Besides,” Chirrut says after Baze fills out one more form, “think about who’s waiting for us at the end of all this paperwork.”  
  
Baze brews another pot of tea for himself and his husband, and works with an even greater speed and diligence than before.  
  
  
…  
  
  
It takes a few weeks for Bodhi to stop called Baze _Mr. Malbus_ and Chirrut _Mr. Îmwe_ , and then a few more weeks for Bodhi to feel comfortable enough to stop adding a "mister" in front of their first names. But then one day, when Baze was making dumplings in the kitchen, Bodhi comes scampering up beside him with a colourful drawing clutched carefully in his little hands.  
  
“Papa, Papa!” Bodhi calls out happily, and Baze drops the dumpling he was folding onto the counter with a quiet _splat_.  
  
“Papa, look what I drew!” Bodhi hands the drawing to Baze, who numbly takes it. “It’s you, me and Daddy in your hot chocolate shop. See, we’re all wearing name-badges that say ‘The Boss’ because we’re all The Boss. Do you like it, Papa? Do you think Daddy will like it too? I’m gonna show this to him when he comes home!”  
  
Baze stares at the picture for a moment, taking in the three of them – one happy family – before placing the picture carefully on a clean space on the countertop. Then, he reaches down and scoops Bodhi’s tiny body in his arms and cradles his son against him.  
  
“Papa?” Bodhi asks, and wraps his thin arms around Baze’s neck. “Are you okay, Papa?”  
  
“…happy,” Baze grunts and he feels Bodhi’s tiny fingers play around with his long strands of hair coming loose from its tie.  
  
“I’m happy too,” Bodhi hums. After a moment, Bodhi pipes up with an innocent: “Can you make hot chocolate for me, Papa?”  
  
Baze laughs, and clutches his son harder, not yet willing to let go.  
  
“Sure. But only if you fold some dumplings with me.”  
  
“Okay, Papa.”  
  
They just stay there, holding each other and feeling at home.  
  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed this little story. :)
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated!! ♥


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